Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) Read Free Page B

moment, Jurabin. Will you grant my wish for a few minutes of conversation?”
    “Of course, Sire.”
    “Then attend me. We will go to the Seven Room.”
    “Lead, Sire; I will follow.”
    His Majesty rose, whereupon all of the lords and ladies of the court who had managed to find chairs rose as well, and the entire assemblage fell silent and faced his Majesty, who sketched them a perfunctory salute. He looked around for the officer on duty to escort him, and found this officer standing imperturbably at his side.
    “The Seven Room,” said his Majesty.
    The officer bowed, and led the way through the throng, which parted before him. The Emperor and the Prime Minister followed at a leisurely pace; the Orb, a pale green, serenely circled His Majesty’s head as he walked. Upon leaving the hall via the Mirrored Doors, which a servant hastily opened, the officer led the way down the Teak Passage, up the Green Stairway, and so to the room with seven walls where His Majesty most liked to hold private conversations. The officer himself opened the one door to this room, and, after satisfying himself that the room was unoccupied, stood aside for His Majesty
and the Prime Minister to enter, after which he closed the door and placed himself in front of it.
    His Majesty sat in his favorite chair—a gold-colored chair with thick stuffing and a small matching footrest—and indicated that Jurabin should sit as well. When the Prime Minister had done so, in a plain chair facing His Majesty, the latter said, without preamble, “What have you been doing, Jurabin, about the finances of the Empire?”
    “Sire,” said Jurabin, who appeared to be caught slightly off guard, “I have been doing all that can be done.”
    “And that includes?”
    “Not a day goes by, Sire, that I do not endeavor to find some new economy. Today, for example, I—”
    “New economies, Jurabin? Is that all that can be done?”
    “That is all, Sire, until the Meeting of the Principalities.”
    “Ah, yes, the meeting. The meeting to which we have just received yet another cancellation. Jurabin, if the meeting is to take place, the Princes and Deputies ought to begin arriving within the week.”
    “Perhaps, Sire,” said Jurabin; who, while he seemed mildly startled at His Majesty’s sudden interest in matters of policy, did not appear unduly concerned about the presence or absence of the Princes and Deputies.
    His Majesty shifted impatiently. “Will you deny, in any case, that this rash of cancellations has the smell of conspiracy?”
    Jurabin cocked his head. “There is a certain fragrance, Sire, but sometimes we think someone is cooking fish, when, in fact, we are only near the ocean.”
    “I usually know when I’m at the shore, Jurabin,” said His Majesty.
    “How is that, Sire?”
    “Because my feet are wet.”
    Jurabin bowed at this witticism His Majesty did him the honor to share, and said, “Well, then, Sire, are your feet wet?”
    “If there is a conspiracy around me, Jurabin,” said the Emperor, “I am unable to see it.”
    “It is not, perhaps, a conspiracy, Sire,” said the Prime Minister, “either around us here, or among the Princes.”
    “It is not?”
    “Perhaps not.”
    “Then, you are saying that perhaps it is?”
    “That is not precisely my meaning either, Sire.”
    “Well then,” said the Emperor, “What is your meaning?”
    “To speak plainly—”
    “The Gods!” His Majesty burst out. “It is nearly time for you to do so!”
    “I believe that many of the Deputies are, quite simply, afraid to appear.”
    “Afraid?” cried the Emperor. “How, Sennya, a Dzurlord, afraid?”
    Jurabin shrugged. “The Dzur are brave enough when faced with battle, Sire; many of them have no special courage to face less tangible dangers—especially dangers they do not comprehend.”
    “Less tangible dangers? Come, tell me what you mean. Are they afraid of me, do you think?”
    “Not you, Sire; rather, of each other.”
    “Jurabin,